Work Text:
Nienna ties the last knot, the fine thread sharp against her fingers, tender from long hours at work. One loop, two, and she is done, all odds and ends fastened.
As she turns the embroidery hoop, the last of her tears falls, gently, onto the cloth she worked on long days and nights, tirelessly, endlessly weeping. The image is almost primitive in comparison to Vairë’s lavish, sprawling landscapes, telling of lives lived and love lost.
She holds the hoop against the fading light outside the window she sits by in her halls, only a sliver of light reflected off the waves of Ekkaia passing through the deep black, gauzy cloth of one of her veils.
Before she started her work, she went to visit Námo in his halls, watched and wept as he dealt with his duties. She took the colors she saw, deep greys and deeper jewel tones, and the bright spot of Vairë’s hair – took them and translated them into swirls of thread – something new, something changed, as grief becomes pity, becomes compassion.
Tomorrow, she will have to venture out of her halls to Lórien, find Irmo’s colors, and transform them, too, to always carry with her.